


The Architect

by Usagi_Mitsu



Series: Garlean Drabbles [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Comedy, Elidibus being done with their shit, Emissary, Emperor of Garlemald, F/M, Garlemald - Freeform, Gen, Grandpa Emperor, Other, Plotting, Politicians, Politics, accidential comedy, collegues talking, keeping up with the Garlics, shooty shoot, theatre lover, when the carpet matches the drapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagi_Mitsu/pseuds/Usagi_Mitsu
Summary: An emperor has many duties. An emperor has many things to keep track about. The Architect though ... has to keep so much more in mind.
Relationships: Elidibus & Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Solus zos Galvus & Garlemald
Series: Garlean Drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777903
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Architect

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION! FFXIV Stormblood and Shadowbringers spoilers included!

For once, the carpet did match the drapes.

Quite literally actually.

Not that there were many windows to keep closed with the drapes. Windows were a security risk and of course – he had made sure to close all and any security risks.

But without drapes each and every spoken word would echo from metal wall to metal wall. So he had them install drapes.

The carpet was a must though. He had always liked carpets. When walking across them, he took just a tiny bit of joy in the way it changed the sound of his boots from loud clunking to silence.

One annoyance less!

He had liked them red. Blood stains were far less obvious on those, so he wouldn’t have to have them changed too often.

And the drapes were usually a mix of heavy golden brocade and red embroidery. He had always liked blue, but he couldn’t colour another empire in nothing but blue and silver. So he went with red and gold.

But of course, the days occasion called for black.

Black carpet, black drapes.

Lowered flags and silence all across the country.

There weren’t even any plays allowed. Especially not the kind he liked.

It was all just dreadful. Dreary.

It made him even more drowsy than he usually felt.

It was all nothing but-

“Boring.”

He sat on his throne, his heavy crown lazily placed on his left armrest, his head propped up on his right fist. He was listening to a report. Another boring affair. But not quite unrelated.

“… and on the morrow, the palace guard will shoot twoscore and three salves from the new canons. To commemorate her royal highnesses-“

“Yes… yes…” a deep sigh escaped his lips. _How very boring._ “Are you done yet?”

The master of ceremonies seemed taken aback.

“Your royal highness are not pleased with the plans..?”

_Oh really. That’s what’s setting you off? My pleasure?_

Instead of sarcastically voicing his thoughts, he rubbed his eyes. Really. He made a show of it.

A ruler showing true signs of weakness and hurt was a powerful tool. Usually, he would refrain from it in such a situation.

But it was all just so _boring!_

“Do go on Master-“ he did not remember his minions name.

_Shite._

But the man was none the wiser. His sorrowful eyes took on a sympathetic touch before he closed the heavy book in his arms.

“Your radiance, I understand. We shall not disturb you any longer.”

He took a deep bow, his entourage did the same.

And one by one they passed the small golden coffin in the middle of the room, sparring it shy glances, before finally finding their way through the monumental door to the throne room.

Each and every one of them, but one soldier.

The door fell shut with a deafening sound.

“And what is it that you might want, soldier?” He asked, his brows slowly crinkling.

He wanted to get up and off of this most uncomfortable chair. A mental note would remind him later to hang whoever decided a throne of metal and glass was a good idea.

“Pardon my transgression, your radiance,” the man fell into an elegant bow, “but I would ask an audience with _the_ _Architect._ ”

Something in the soldiers voice peeked his interest. Slowly, his left hand began to wander towards his robes. He always had a pistol on him.

“Oh my,” he almost sang, his hand carefully riffling through the folds of his cloak, “what a pleasure it is to be the host to the most esteemed emissary.”

The soldier finally stopped bowing so ridiculously.

“I came to offer my condolences to the emperor of the strongest empire on this forsaken world,” Elidibus did not mince his words, “I’m sorry you lost your dear wife. Do tell – is it true what they are saying on the streets of Garlemald and you actually shot your wife?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Do you believe me such a colossal collection of failure?”

“No, but I know your temper, Emet-Selch,” the soldier weighed his head from left to right, “and should she have not lived up to your expectations; if she might have even _bored_ you-“

“Oh shut up,” he finally rose from his throne. His hands had abandoned the search for his personal firearm and he gestured with them theatrically. “You are showing me exactly why I am the architect and you are just the emissary, old friend,” and he rolled his eyes, stepping down the stairs and onto the carpet.

“Do you really believe I would carelessly throw away a vital piece such as the queen?”

He approached the casket and caressed it gently.

“Oh no… She was perfect. The perfect empress to my emperor. I vetted her well before choosing her.”

The others armour rattled as he turned his head.

_How annoying._

“So how did she actually die then? And please. Do tell at least me the truth about why we can no longer enact the perfect death for her? This is an annoyance. At least.”

“Oh yes – tell me about how annoying the death of my wife is to you,” the Architect rolled his eyes and turned back towards his companion. “How her premature death has destroyed _your_ plans. Might I remind you, _old friend,_ that it is _I_ who plans and enacts this-“

“-theatre? No,” the soldier finally took off his helmet to reveal a cleanshaven garlean visage, ”your love for _story telling_ is rather well known and I do not need to be reminded. Thank you very much. What I am interested in is to why you, our master author of history has lost – and may I quote you here – a _vital piece such as the queen?_ ”

Another sigh escaped him. Another one of annoyance and _boredom._

“Vibrio cholerae.”

“… you are joking.”

He turned towards his fellow in misery.

“Dear Elidibus. Why would I be joking about this. Is this not a serious conversation?”

The man wearing the Garlean face bit his lower lip.

“That is… most unfortunate.”

“Indeed,” he took a few more steps, knocking on the casket. It was made of wood and gave a hollow sound. “Garlemald might be the most advanced nation on this broken world so far and for the moment, but they have not yet mastered the art of clean water. And to my shame I must admit,” he raised his shoulders apologetically, “I did not even notice her leave of absence for medical reasons– as her maid called it, I believe - before it was too late.”

His companion nodded sagely.

“So… how are we going to use this? A reform of the empires water and wastewater laws will not further our cause.”

“Well… a good question indeed…”

“But you, as one who loves the theatre, already has an answer to this question, I take it?”

He fell silent for a moment.

Indeed. There had been many ideas about this in his head.

It could be an accident – what it very well was.

Or genetics. Not that the half-baked beings of this age would understand the concept of _genetics._ And if they did, it could mean problems for his sons and grandsons. And granddaughters. If they were to rise to a prominent station. Though sadly, most women in Garlemald seemed to much rather stay in the shadows of their men. A pity. And a waste of workforce and brainpower. But also a topic for thoughts on a different day.

“I believe framing it as the act of an enemy nation might suit our plans,” he finally concluded after another minute of thought.

“I have been facing some opposition from the senate lately. They think the empire should not annex the lands of the Hrothgar. Bozja, as they call it,” he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened it.

It hurt and cracked.

He really needed to get the person behind the design of his throne back _somehow._

“… this might even work,” Elidibus seemed lost in thought for a moment, “shall I ask Lahabrea to … and I cannot believe I am using his words here … _seduce_ a tribe of Bozja natives to summoning a primal? As further incentive?”

_Intriguing._

_But…_

“Not necessary,” his hands resumed searching his pockets. “The murder of their empress should be enough to sway the masses. She was good and kind, you know. Just the way the people liked it. She was an inspirational beacon to them and her loss has affected many. If there were rumours and perhaps a culprit-“

“Say no more.” The Emissary nodded with the stolen face. “I shall ensure the success of the tale. But before I leave, would you be willing to answer me another question, Architect?”

He raised his brow, just as his right hand found what he had been looking for.

“Of course, let me indulge you.” He did not want to. But who was he to deny _the Emissary._

The soldiers face grew darker.

“In your most prominent role as emperor Xande, you named your daughter your successor the day she was born. Solus zos Galvus has been … blessed … with two healthy sons and from what I hear,” he raised one brow, “the emperor has been rather fond of the older.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Go on, neither of us has all day.”

“If you would let me finish-“ Elidibus took a deep breath to calm himself, “what I would like for you to tell me is, if there is a reason to why you are refraining to name an official successor, even though you seem to favour the older so much?”

Ah – the man blinded by diplomacy seemed to be missing the point of intriguing story telling.

“Well, Elidibus, there is a particular reason to it. I shall answer you, if you answer a question of mine.”

A curt nod.

_How impatient._

But the Architect did not care.

“You see,” and he pulled forth his favourite little weapon, “we have watched the rise of Allag and have seen what a good, maybe even great ruler can do. So I just thought,” and he checked the barrel of his pistol, “that I wanted to see the results of a … less amazing ruler. One who does only care about his time and his achievements. So I thought it might be interesting to watch Garlemald, as they loose their ruler, but have no designated successor at hand.”

Elidibus seemed less than pleased.

“Sometimes I wonder which one of you will disappoint me first: Lahabrea and his more and more reckless endeavours or you, with your calculated twists and turns on the chessboard. Do not endanger our mission, Emet-Selch. This is not one of your plays” he warned.

The barrel was actually full and ready to use. He swiftly closed it shut and the closing click echoed through the throne room.

“Now now Elidibus. Don’t presume that we are mindless minions of yours. As we are not, as you must have noticed by now. It has been so long,” a slight grin spread across his face. “But do tell. Do you intend to keep this body?”

Another eye rolling from the Emissary in that new fancy body of his.

“Of course not. I do not have any ne-“

But a loud gunshot finally shut him up.

Solus zos Galuvs slowly lowered his right arm and gently blew on the smoking tip of his gun.

This had been such a convenient invention. He would need to raise the salary of whoever made this pretty little thing, that did so much to shut his annoying colleagues up.

Perhaps he would ask his favourite author to name a character after them. But it would have to be a heroic one.

The loud rattling of armour and metal boots on metal ground tore him from his thoughts, as his guards entered the throne room. The gunshot must have alerted them.

“Your radiance,” the captain of the guard. His voice was muffled through the helmet.

Another annoyance. How was he to actually understand his pawns, if their equipment made communication hard or even impossible?

“Captain, please do remove this vermin from the throne room. He tried to assassinate your emperor on the day of his empress’s funeral. He shall be stripped of his armour and thrown to feed the livestock. We do have meat eating cattle, do we?”

A questioning glance towards the captain, who stuttered an answer.

He did not care.

“Very well then,” he turned to leave, but not before throwing one last glance at his baffled guard, “but please. Do change the carpet. This one has been soiled.”

What a lovely day.

He would get a new carpet. Perhaps he could try blue this time.

He had always liked blue after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ... THIS LITERALLY CAME TO ME IN THE SHOWER AND WHEN MY PC FINALLY LOADED IN, MY HAIR WAS STILL DRIPPING WET AND I DRESSED IN NOTHING BUT A TOWEL XD
> 
> I don’t think it’s perfect but... I like it. :3
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you for (hopefully) enjoying! Kudos to Aethernoise on tumbrl for being my back-and-forth partner on this. :) 
> 
> <3 Usagi


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